


AKA Detox at Rikers

by prinkes



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, because she's an idiot mostly, jessica goes to jail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 13:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11291283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prinkes/pseuds/prinkes
Summary: While her trial drags on, Jessica gets into a bar fight. Hogarth can't fix this one immediately, and she's shipped off to Rikers. The problem is, liquor is hard to come by in jail. Cue sudden withdrawal, and one very sassy guard who just doesn't know when to quit.





	AKA Detox at Rikers

**Author's Note:**

> A one shot exploration of what might happen while Jessica's still waiting for trial, mostly an excuse to explore the alcoholism and what it'd look like if she had to detox. Originally posted on a Tumblr RP account.

Hogarth had kept her out of jail in the beginning. Trish had posted her bail immediately after her arraignment. They still had a trial, but all Jessica had to do was show up to her hearings, let Hogarth do her job, and stay out of trouble.

So, of course, two weeks later she was in county. Picked up for being drunk and disorderly – plus assault charges.

“It was just a bar fight.”

“Dammit, Jessica,” Hogarth hissed across the visitor’s table. “You’re not making my job easy.”

“When have I ever,” she began, her voice flat. “Made things easier for anyone?”

Hogarth _tsked,_ like she was being deliberately difficult, but Jessica was serious. She wanted Hogarth to have an answer. Trish would’ve, she’d know the right thing to say and how to say it. Trish was the kind of person who made everyone’s lives easier. Her polar opposite.

“Jessica, this is serious,” Hogarth said, snapping her folder shut. Jessica blinked at the noise, turning back to the lawyer. “You’re on trial for _murder_.”

When she closed her eyes, she could still his twisted body sprawled on the docks.

“It looks bad when you go around assaulting bars full of people,” Hogarth finished. “Press like this could really hurt us.”

“So bribe the papers,” Jessica sighed.

“I did,” Hogarth said. “But I can’t bribe a _cop_ or a jury. You’re stuck in here, and if you’re not careful, you won’t come out. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, is that what you want?”

Jessica didn’t say anything. After a terse moment, Hogarth gathered up her files and left. Jessica watched her go, a blank look on her face.

“What life?” she asked the empty room. 

* * *

 

At her hearing the next morning, the judge sent her in without remand. Hogarth said they’d appeal, probably get the decision overturned, but it would take time. For now, Jessica was headed to Rikers.

The transport was uneventful. She was nauseous the entire time, but whether that was her hangover or the shitty driving, she couldn’t say.

It was _jail,_ but it wasn’t so bad. The jumpsuit was itchy, the guards were assholes, and it felt like her brain was going to burst out of her skull at any second – but still. The second she heard the cell door slam shut behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. It came over her in waves. Giving up meant she didn’t have to _think_ anymore.

Ignoring her cell mate, who seemed content enough to do the same, she crawled onto the top bunk and slept. For once, she didn’t dream. 

* * *

 

A few hours later, she was sick. She woke up with her head swimming, her stomach threatening to reject what little she’d put into it. Her throat _ached_ for a drink, just one. Something to take the edge off and keep her from shaking out of her skin. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling, and she shivered like she was constantly cold even though she was soaked in sweat.

But she didn’t say anything. She just pulled the scratchy state-issued blanket tighter and willed herself to fall back asleep. But it was louder than she expected, people shifting on their bunks, and the guard’s shoes echoing loudly down the concrete hallways. Coughing, snoring, sniffling, crying – it was like her ears were picking up on every shitty sound in this place.

“What d’you want?” her cell mate asked, and Jessica was fairly certain she wasn’t talking to her. With effort, she rolled over on her bunk, and saw a guard standing outside their cell. A woman, blonde hair and green eyes, a stern sort of expression on her face as she peered in at them.

“Sit down, Conway,” the guard said. “Jones?” she called, raising her voice.

Jessica lifted her head a fraction of an inch. “What _do_ you want?” she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation. She blinked at the woman, and the metal nametag slowly came into focus: C.O. Shore.

“You alive up there?” Shore asked, crossing her arms.

“Obviously.”

“You look like shit,” the guard said. “And if you die, it’s an awful lot of paperwork on my end.”

Straight to the point, Jessica almost liked her. “I’m not dying,” she said, rolling back to face the wall. She tried to ignore the sudden wave of nausea that came with the movement. “I just want to fucking _sleep_ ,” she said pointedly.

Shore made a _tutting_ sound. “How long she been like that?” she asked.

“Dunno. Couple hours,” Conway said, sleepily. Jessica would’ve kicked her if she could reach. Or move.

There was a crackling sound as Shore’s radio came to life. “Officer Shore requesting medical in Singer. Cell Block E, cell 42.”

Jessica sat up with a jolt – which didn’t do much for her head – and glared at the woman. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’ll go where I tell you,” Shore replied easily. “Last I checked, I’m the one with the badge. You’re the one who needs to detox.”

“I just said I’m not going anywhere.,” Jessica snapped, gripping the edge of the bunk tightly. The metal groaned under her hands. “Detox at Rikers, I think I'll pass.”

“Jones.” Shore’s eyes locked on hers, there was just a hint of warning in her voice. “Do yourself a favor and do what you’re told.”

Jessica clenched her jaw. “Not exactly my strong suit.”

“I’m shocked,” Shore quipped. “Next thing you’ll be telling me you aren’t Miss Congeniality.”

Jessica jumped down, her feet landing on the concrete with a loud _slam._ “What will it take to make you go away?” she asked, walking over to the bars, gripping them tightly. It didn’t do much to hide how hard she was trembling.

Shore gave her a look, and answered a call on her radio. “Medical will be here in fifteen minutes, Jones. Just sit tight.” With that, she walked off, out of sight around the corner.

Jessica groaned, and thought seriously for a minute about ripping the cell door off its hinges. They had no idea what she could do, no idea about her abilities. She could show them, and then they’d realize she didn’t need to a _doctor,_ she needed a better cage. Somewhere she could never get out of. She shouldn’t have let Hogarth talk her out of Supermax.

But her hands were still shaking, so sweaty she could barely get a grip on the metal. She pressed her forehead to the bars, let her dark hair fall around her face. Her stomach was tying itself into knots, and her heart was beating so hard she was sure it was going to crack her ribs.

A tap on the bars near her head made her jump. She looked up with a glare at Shore.

“Here,” the guard said, extending the water bottle through the bars.

Jessica’s eyes flicked between Shore and the water. “You do this for all your inmates?” she asked dryly.

Shore shrugged. “Just the ones who are a real pain in the ass.”

“Cute,” Jessica said. But she took the water bottle. “Not exactly the drink I had in mind,” she said, unscrewing the top.

“Unfortunately, it’s a vending machine, not a minibar,” Shore said. “We are in jail after all.”

Jessica laughed, and took a long sip of water. She hadn’t realized until now just how _thirsty_ she was.

“Go slow,” Shore warned. Jessica ignored her, kept sucking down the water. It was half gone by the time she lowered it.

She studied Shore, taking in her perfectly tight-bun, the slightly worn nature of her uniform. She was one of the only female guards Jessica had seen, but she carried herself with confidence and ease. “You’ve been doing this a while,” she pointed out, before she could stop herself.

Shore nodded. “Since I was twenty-two. Right after I had my first kid,” she said. The mention alone brought a small smile to her face. It suited her, that smile, softened her stern features. The lines around her eyes could’ve been from laughter as much as worry, and either way, she was still strikingly beautiful.

Jessica shook her head – _bad idea, ow –_ and gave her a look. “Don’t you ever get _tired?_ ” she asked, disbelief dripping off her voice. “Looking after shitty people day in and day out.”

“Sure. But they’re not all shitty,” Shore replied. She held up her hands. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s some real assholes in here. And I write ‘em up every time they need it. But most people are just trying to do their time and get out. And every now and then, there’s someone who tells really great jokes. Or who just needs an extra apple at lunch, and then he’s quiet all night,” she shrugged. “I had one inmate who could draw the most beautiful cartoons, and he made me a whole slew of comics for my kids. Sometimes, people surprise you.”

Jessica felt a lump growing in her throat. “Surprises aren’t always good,” she said quietly, not meeting Shore’s eyes. She’d surprised herself when she snapped Kilgrave’s neck. Until that moment, she wasn’t sure she could actually do it. And now that she had, where did that leave her?

Behind bars, with a pounding head, shaking in front of a woman she’d never met before.

Shore sighed. “You’re real cheery, anyone ever tell you that?” Jessica shrugged and took another long sip of water. It sat in her stomach like lead, but she couldn’t stop herself.

When she looked up again, Shore was staring at her. “What, something on my face?” she asked, raising a brow.

“I was just thinking,” Shore began. “I’ve had people refuse to go to medical before. But never someone detoxing.”

Jessica didn’t say anything, just tightened her grip on the water bottle, crunching the plastic between her fingers. There wasn’t any point in _denying_ it. She wore her vices and mistakes on her sleeve.

“When’s the last time you had a drink?” Shore asked, but it wasn’t an accusation. She was less like Hogarth and more like Claire. There wasn’t judgment in her voice, just a question.

“The night I was arrested, I guess,” Jessica muttered, not meeting her eyes.

Shore nodded. “And how much were you drinking before then?”

“Oh, about _none of your fucking business,_ ” she snapped. “What do you care?”

“I don’t,” Shore replied easily. She paused for a moment, tapping her fingers along her belt. “I had an ex, drank a lot. He had that same look as you. Defiant, angry. It was like the alcohol dragged up every dark thought he ever had and drowned him in it,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I ever saw him happy, not really, until his third wife convinced him to get help.”

Jessica resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but just barely. “I don’t need help,” she said, but she wanted to say _the whiskey does help._ But even she wouldn’t have bought that. “Anonymous meetings and chanting serenity prayers, no thanks. Not my style.”

“No, your style is more county jail,” Shore said pointedly. “ _Great_ decision making.”

There were voices and footsteps coming down the hall, and they both looked in the direction. “Must be medical,” the guard said, stepping back from the cell. Her eyes met Jessica’s. “Just – think about it,” she said. “What you’re doing, Jones – it clearly isn’t working.”

Jessica didn’t say anything, just nodded. Two nurses rounded the corner and approached them, Jessica had to step back while Shore opened up the cell.

The problem was, she was tired of thinking. She just wanted them to drug her up and let her sleep for a few days. Or forever, she wasn’t real fussy. In the end, she went to the infirmary quietly.

* * *

 

Hogarth got her out after two weeks, citing some precedent from 1984 or some bullshit. But not until after Jessica had spent two days in the infirmary, sleeping off the rest of her detox in a drug-induced haze. She saw Shore here and there, but didn’t talk to her again before she was released.

The bus dropped her off at a familiar corner, and she headed, on instinct, towards the nearest liquor store. She knew Trish and Malcom had probably cleaned out her apartment by now – a gesture of ‘good will.’ Or something.

The guard’s face flashed into her mind as she pushed open the door. Over the tinkling of the bell, she heard Shore saying _think about it._ She saw her face reflected back at her in the shining bottles on the shelf. Her hands ached for the familiar weight.

_It was like the alcohol dragged up every dark thought –_

Jessica grabbed the cheapest bottle of whiskey from the shelf.

_And drowned him in it._

She walked over to the cashier, handed over some folded paper bills.

_I don’t think I ever saw him happy._

She pulled the top off as soon as she was outside.

_Great decision making._

Jessica took a long pull off the bottle. It burned all the way down.

_What you’re doing clearly isn’t working._

But nothing worked. That was the point. She capped the bottle, and headed back to whatever life she had left behind.


End file.
